 | Poems on several subjects |  |
LOVE's CURE.
Dool fell the swain that's mang'd wi' love!
He goves for comfort frae above;
But Cupid, and hard-hearted Jove,
Blink na' relief:
And a' his gaunts and gapes but prove
Milk to his grief.
He goves for comfort frae above;
But Cupid, and hard-hearted Jove,
Blink na' relief:
And a' his gaunts and gapes but prove
Milk to his grief.
If some auld swinger snap to speak
Of pink-ey'd queans, he gives a squeek;
My heart fu' sair, needs that blyth eek,
To mend my dool:
If Cyprus dame had up her cleek,
I'll be her tool.
Of pink-ey'd queans, he gives a squeek;
My heart fu' sair, needs that blyth eek,
To mend my dool:
If Cyprus dame had up her cleek,
I'll be her tool.
20
The meikle trake come o'er their snouts
That laugh at winsome kissing pouts,
Wha look like sheep at merry bouts,
And steal a smile:
Lang syne they had their carlish doubts,
And sighing while.
That laugh at winsome kissing pouts,
Wha look like sheep at merry bouts,
And steal a smile:
Lang syne they had their carlish doubts,
And sighing while.
When Jeany geakes, and scorns my tale,
And winna yield for prins or ale,
That day my tripes will had na kail;
Oh! storm-sick then:
But if she gaufes, I think her leal,
And wow I'm fain.
And winna yield for prins or ale,
That day my tripes will had na kail;
Oh! storm-sick then:
But if she gaufes, I think her leal,
And wow I'm fain.
The snapsy karles grane in ease;
They sleep and eat whene'er they please;
And hae their lucky to keep their clease
Baith tight and clean:
But we, like waff fok, speal the braes,
Love daft and keen.
They sleep and eat whene'er they please;
And hae their lucky to keep their clease
Baith tight and clean:
But we, like waff fok, speal the braes,
Love daft and keen.
Ilk merry look and wally taste,
Gi'es health unto the gamesome jest;
And still wi' something they are blest,
I winna say,
For fear some humour bang my breast,
That winna lay.
Gi'es health unto the gamesome jest;
And still wi' something they are blest,
I winna say,
For fear some humour bang my breast,
That winna lay.
Heal be their gab that Jeanie praise,
And tell her o' my bonny plays:
Perhaps she'll briss to sic fine days
Wi' Venus' leave:
Then I'll be vex'd wi' na mae nays,
Nor restless live.
And tell her o' my bonny plays:
Perhaps she'll briss to sic fine days
Wi' Venus' leave:
Then I'll be vex'd wi' na mae nays,
Nor restless live.
O Sanny syne will heartsome be,
And for lang groans gouf up, Ti hi;
E'en not a Jove so fond as he
Wi's Juno's charms;
When I shall fidge so devoutlie
Busk'd in her arms.
And for lang groans gouf up, Ti hi;
E'en not a Jove so fond as he
Wi's Juno's charms;
When I shall fidge so devoutlie
Busk'd in her arms.
21
My heart will midge-like dance and reel,
And nouther fear a cow nor deel,
But wallop, as Meg i' the Skeel,
In jolly nature;
And look as brisk as fil'd-up steel,
Upo' the matter.
And nouther fear a cow nor deel,
But wallop, as Meg i' the Skeel,
In jolly nature;
And look as brisk as fil'd-up steel,
Upo' the matter.
But if a' mercy, things misgae,
I'll ramble like a Lybean rae,
That flees the wood, scorns hay and strae;
My planets wyte,
The last redress, Lucadea's brae,
Oh! hard respite.
I'll ramble like a Lybean rae,
That flees the wood, scorns hay and strae;
My planets wyte,
The last redress, Lucadea's brae,
Oh! hard respite.
| Poems on several subjects | |